Demon Hunter
by x.o.987
Summary: A young girl's destiny is to save the last generation of reapers and thus become a demon hunter. However, problems rise when she is conflicted between her faithful grim reaper and a certain charming butler.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

The young girl addresses her mother's ghost, humming the tune that she once heard as a lullaby. The grassy hill silently weep under her feet. The eyes of the dead shly watch her from behind their graves. The cemetery becomes her place of abode and the girl decides this action is fitting for her tired heart. Yet her heart was once restless, beating against the sands of time and devouring the light of the golden moon and gliding with the wings of her angels. And ever so abruptly and early tragedy took her as his wife. The ends of her mouth desperately attempt to curve upward:

"I've discovered these lovely daisies at the florists' earlier, mama. I hope you like them."

She places the wilted plants before the grave.

"Orchids were not on sale. Forgive me."

The drop of her hidden ocean escapes from her eye and descends upon the desert of her cheek.

The chirp of a crow fills her ears in aggressive viscosity.

"I'm afraid I won't be visiting next week, mama. They say I have an important job to do for them. Sadly the adventures of Jules Verne must wait."

The hues of apricot splash the field above as the sun sets for its slumber. The girl closes her eyes in quiet fear, and whispers:

"I know I must stay strong. I must stay strong. Do you remember that tale of that female warrior? Joan of Arc? I try to carry her bravery everyday, but now I am not certain if I can continue living like this."

The chirp of a crow strikes again.

"Nonetheless, I have no choice. They're waiting for me."

A flash of her memory's vision fills her heart and she sees the night of her decided fate.

 _Soon-to-be carrion rested in the middle of the cobblestone road and was scrutinized under the harsh light of a streetlamp. Rowdy men fill their glasses in the pub beside her, charmed in the heavy yellow lights of beer and excited by the loose smiles of young prostitutes. The girl, swimming in blood, meekly calls for help. The knife wound is slowly consuming the vivacity of her soul. And her soon-to-be carrion continues to rest in the middle of the cobblestone road, waiting for death to arrive._

" _Do you wish to live?"_

 _The voice of a young man, seemingly near her age, calls to her in the little crevices of each cobblestone. She asks:_

" _Who-Who's there?"_

" _Your second chance."_

" _My guardian angel?"_

" _No, child. I am certainly far from goodness."_

 _Footsteps echo against the cement of the ground and suddenly halt beside the girl. Her ears are met with the hymns of spirits. It were the same hymns she heard as she witnessed her mother's passing from long ago. It was an operatic crescendo. And her senses are met with the stench of decaying roses. It was as if the young man doused himself in old cologne. She immediately knew this was no ordinary man._

" _I will ask again. Do you wish to live?"_

" _Why would you-"_

" _The clock is ticking, darling. You don't have much time left."_

 _This is a dream, she thinks, and in the morning I will see mama and we will have her delicious blueberry scones. Yet in her conscious abyss she knew this man was addressing her soul in reality and that he was an actual physical being standing beside her, waiting for an answer. And she yearned to convince herself that this was all part of a prolonged dream, mama was baking the scones at this very moment. The man knelt down and his sharp eyes meet hers._

" _If so, your life, henceforth, will be one of unusual circumstances. I cannot guarantee happiness but I will most certainly be your faithful companion. Tell me, child, do you wish to live?"_

 _A crow croaks from a distance._

" _My dear, he is watching us and I would be lying to claim that they are not hungry; especially for innocent souls."_

 _A faint murmur erupts from her mouth, "Who's watching us?"_

" _Your mother's murderer."_

" _Will he kill me?"_

" _I will make sure naught will harm you. When your destiny is fulfilled, I will stand with you at the very last moment."_

 _He gently embraces her bloody hands into his._

" _Who are you?"_

" _I am a grim reaper, a death collector. But I arrive here on different terms."_

" _You speak of this destiny of mine. What destiny?"_

" _A fate that will give you salvation."_

" _Then I wish it so."_

 _He smiles._

 _In an instant, her blood ceases to seep and the wound closes in. This is the point of no return, the girl realizes. Infinitesimal glowing fibers enclose around her frail body, infusing into her veins. The rush of her zest being restored to her bones and heart. Her awakening begins. And her mind feel as if it were a feather, drifting amidst the greenery of a meadow, dancing in the wind of a gentle storm. It was his storm. The young man had enlightened her into a new world. Death no longer waited nearby._

 _His arms swooped, lifting her body from the cobblestone road. The bony fingers of his laced around her shoulder and gently drew circles upon it. Her head rested against his chest yet felt no heartbeat. His skin was a ghostly white and his breaths nonexistent. The scent of decaying roses had engulfed her senses and evoked a sudden drowsiness in her gaze. She yawned:_

" _Is he still watching us? Shall I keep awake?"_

" _You shall sleep. I'll protect you."_

 _Eyelids flutter and close._

 _The young man walks into the darkness of the night, carrying the young girl into his world. The tune of a lullaby is sung under his breath._

The moans of the grass conjure the consciousness of the girl into the present, she continues to stand before her mother's grave. An ambiguous expression is placed upon her delicate face and her finger rise toward the sky in her last struggle of giving a farewell.

"He will protect me. You needn't worry."

Bony fingers appear laced around her shoulders and she feels the presence of his chest against the back of her head. The young man, brazen in his gentle jubilance, lurks behind the girl in a silent way. He whispers:

"Come now, darling. It is time to leave. Take my hand."

"I don't want to leave. I'm afraid. I'm so afraid."

He smiles:

"Let's talk of light, of darkness, and the forgotten souls;

Make my scythe your bridge to redemption

Sing your mother's song to the pillars of the universe

Embrace the stars against those envious creatures

For humanity's sake, let's talk of the fallen knights

How valiant in their pursuit of righteousness they are.

My darling, do not be afraid, for we can talk of lightness,

Of darkness, and the forgotten souls.

Take my hand now, and do not let go."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Before I was an executor, I was a girl who lived by the seas. I had a family; papa, mama, and my precious brother Aime. And we lived in a lighthouse upon the edge of the world. I remember waking up in the birth of a day, orange waters gently kissing the sand and my brother sleeping beside me with salt in his hair. We were on an island in the South of France. Papa worked long hours. And through a dewy fog I saw his little boat suspended in the ocean, his fishing rod the size of a white mote that you only see through light. I looked at him, and then back at my brother. I had all the stars of the universe in my hand, and I would smile at this thought. Soon mama would awaken and the scent of crepes seductively lingered in the air. I was happy. I was a girl.

Now I peer into a mirror and see what is left of that child who once lived by the seas. The salt is no longer in Aime's hair, it is in my dried tears. Papa died that morning I gazed in the ocean, a sudden heart attack; an ant drowning in a drop of water. We moved to England, and my mother found it difficult to cope this loss; I wish I hadn't seen her corpse clutching a whiskey bottle. It was also hard to make ends meet. My brother and I worked in factories. He died a few weeks after because his little body couldn't handle the labor; his eyes were a milky white and he said I shouldn't cry because he missed my smile. It was hard to break down my walls for Kip but I did for the sake of my salvation; a new beginning.

I am a killer of sin, a machine built for something too complex for myself and humans to understand. Kip says I am an angel without wings but in reality I am a mortal grim reaper. We traveled both worlds of the living and dead in search of certain beasts; the creatures who steal souls. And I despise all of them. I wish they never existed nor the executor. There wouldn't have to be a prophecy; one who has suffered all the suffering in the world becomes the lucky one, they claim. Do I consider myself lucky? Perhaps for the second chance at living. Perhaps for the second chance of caring for someone.

Kip doesn't have a surname. He is simply your average reaper with a walk and a talk too gentle for the living. He would be the one whispering lullabies into my ear when I wake from frequent nightmares; a nightlight in the darkness of my world. There is a stereotype about the white collar reapers; a heartless and sadistic bunch. But it's hard to believe that this wide-eyed, smiley, baby-faced man fits into such a judgement. I know he is not like the others for when I rest against his chest, I hear something beating under it.

" _He will protect me. You needn't worry."_

The living and dead; two sides of the same coin. The first time I met Ciel he had a shilling in his grasp.

I suppose it was a coincidence he looked exactly like Aime. And I also suppose I was desperate enough to follow him through the busy streets of London, hoping my brother was alive though he died in my arms long ago. All it took was a quick glance in the distance on a cloudy day to make me run from poor Kip. It couldn't be, I thought. Yet I remembered how the universe used to appear when it had stars; twinkling lights of colors to fill its empty void. My hands wanted to feel them again. I didn't want to be a Shakespearean tragedy, I wanted all of the light of my stars to last as long as the sun; to shine brightly enough to create bridges of luminescence across oceans. Thus I bolted against the current, arms reaching to the unreachable.

"Aime!" I cried, tears as little tsunamis rolled through the lands of my world, "Je t'en prie, Aime! Please, Aime!"

A navy cape, a cane, an eye patch; the boy turned around to see what all the fuss was about. For a moment I was convinced it was my star; he bore the same facial features, sapphire gems as eyes and all. And for a moment I genuinely smiled. I smelled the scent of crepes.

"I beg your pardon? Do I know you?" Aime died in my arms.

A butler with crimson eyes stood beside him; he smelled of death; the soulless type of death. I was a pitiful fool to follow the very thing I kill and live for. Yet I thought they all looked the same; bloodthirsty shallow adonises with the same question always on their mind; when will I catch the next prey? However something intangible hid in his eyes; I would soon learn that he was never full of questions for he knew all the answers.

"Ah yes," the butler smiled, "My apologies Lady Ivers, my master did not expect to meet with you in this type of fashion."

"Lady Ivers?" The boy spoke with aghast, "The queen's diplomatic serpent?"

My mouth opened but words had failed to escape.

"You mustn't run off like that, ma cherie," I felt a bony hand caress my shoulder, "You have our most sincerest apologies Earl Phantomhive. It seems as though my master is very eager to work with you on this special case."

They claim that chivalry is a dead sport and even Kip who has lived for as long as a man who could remember the first king of France states that it is very dead. And meeting Ciel, well, it was quite dead. Nothing could melt his abrasive exterior.

"It was a perceived notion I was to meet with an associate who is truly serious about his or her vocation. Yet I am interrupted in the state of leisure," and he lied, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ivers."

"Li-like-likewise, Earl Phantomhive," I croaked, "I am keen on working with the queen's guard dog."

"Obviously," he sighed, "Sebastian, prepare a carriage."

"Yes, my lord."

"Lady Ivers, I request that we shall have a meeting at once for these pressing matters cannot wait."

I could feel the warmth of a fireplace in the chilly November air when his butler spoke. It was a sudden crescendo to the end of a song; a resilience to the chaos in my head. And thus a new chapter begins.

The butler extended his hand to me:

"Master Ciel's carriage is not far from our location. Please, if you will be so kind as to allow me the honor of escorting you to the desired commute."

Kip once said there had been a recent discovery of hidden stars in the night sky. A scientist claims this phenomenon is due from a neighbor star sucking all its brilliance of light. It is theorized that these pairs of hot matter dance around each other; eventually closing in and forming a massive supernova. Kip certainly knew all the secrets of space and time. I often wanted him to tell me all of them; the purpose of life, the age of the earth. But I suppose I learned one of them that day.

And the lesson was that a butler's gloves could be surprisingly soft.


End file.
